Short of Decay
by MassEffectBountyHunter
Summary: An unexpected group of survivors meet and must band together to survive the horrors of the apocalypse. There will be action, emotion, thrill, adventure, humor, gore and. . . a dwarf? Follow this unlikely group of survivors as they fight for their lives in the ultimate survival of the fittest! Hell, create a character to join them! (OC Submission/3 Openings Remain)
1. Good Morning

**Short of Decay**

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**A/N: Hey guys, this story is an OC submission story. That means you (the reader), are able to submit up to one OC (other character), into the story! My goal is lead an action-packed, humorous, yet gore-filled adventure built around a unique cast of characters I'm hoping you guys are willing to add to! So enough chit chat, below you'll find the rubric for creating an OC. Simply answer the following and PM it to me: **

**Name (First, Last):**

**Age:**

**Physical Appearance (Includes tats, piercings, height,): **

**Occupation:**

**Traits (Up to three): **

**Biggest Strength:**

**Biggest Weakness:**

**Religion:**

**Sexuality (hetero, homo, etc.): **

**Team Player (Yes or No):**

**Open to Romance (Yes or No): **

**Brief Background (2-3 sentences):**

**A/N: Again, if you wish to submit a character please just PM him/her to me. Keep posted for acceptance, updates, and that sort of thing. In the story's original post, a year ago all ready... I received three OCs. I will be accepting five more! Now let's give you a taste for the story with one of our characters… He's short. Like, really short. **

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He awoke from his rock-hard bed like always, grumpy and stiff. His back ached, his stubby legs were cramped, and his head throbbed. Such was the daily misery for the small man, for he dealt with this most every morning.

Sitting up in the enormous bed, or at least enormous to him, he began to knead the back of his calves with his knuckles. More often than not he was able to work out the cramps before having to crawl out of bed. The days he couldn't were the worst. Nothing compared to the anguish he faced if he couldn't work out the sharp pains. Walking around the office was excruciating with leg cramps, especially with his condition. A normal person would probably have nowhere near the issue it created for Kyle.

After nearly five minutes of his futile attempt to cure the cramps, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and quite literally, fell to the floor from his bed.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned from the floor. He never intended to flop out of bed in such a way, but with such short limbs it was near impossible to properly leave his sheets.

And so like every morning, Kyle picked himself off the floor and walked across the apartment in his goofy manner. Upon reaching the white wooden counter, he grabbed a chair from the small kitchen table and pulled it against the wood. Kyle then proceeded to climb atop the chair and start the process of making coffee. As the coffee machine set to work on his mug, he climbed back down to the floor and made for the bathroom where a stool awaited him. He ascended the stool and found himself looking at the pathetic excuse of a human being he was.

His mop of auburn hair was tussled from a bad night's sleep, his forehead was still too big, and his blue eyes were still plagued with dark bags underneath. Staring in the mirror, he realized his beard stubble had returned, and was sadly reminded by the glass. . .

. . . That he was a midget.

Dwarfism is the exact, medical term. As such, Kyle preferred being called a dwarf to that of a midget. The word midget felt offensive and derogatory to him. To be frank, he hated the word. Kyle went out of his little way to make sure anyone that called him by it, suffered his mighty dissatisfaction. His neighbor Hubert Hill, was one such person that Kyle often demonstrated his not-so-nice attitude towards.

Brushing his teeth and splashing water at his face from the oversized sink, he soon found himself back in the kitchen where his coffee steamed. Eagerly, he pulled the blue mug from the machine and took a lengthy sip. Lowering it from his lips, he nodded his approval, savoring the taste. For a little man like Kyle, he sure loved his morning coffee. It was safe to say the little man wouldn't function without it.

The dwarf hopped down from the kitchen chair, waddled back into the bland bedroom, and discovered his work clothes lying in a basket. Frowning at the childish-looking suit and tie, he wasted no time yanking on miniature gray khakis. Afterwards he fumbled with a button up shirt, gray suit coat, and maroon tie. All in all, getting dressed for work each morning took Kyle almost ten minutes. His legs were always difficult to pull pants over, his balance was clumsy at best, and his stumpy fingers always struggled with the buttons. _Always. _

Ready to take on the day at the office, Kyle finished half his mug of coffee before pouring it down the kitchen drain he could hardly reach. The dwarf retrieved a mini-black leather briefcase from his bedroom and marched out into the apartment building's hallway.

Colonial Apartments was a modest downtown apartment complex of about twenty rooms. Its doors were green, its carpet dusty brown, and Kyle's least favorite part, its hallway long. But then again, as Kyle always had to remind himself, to a normal man this hallway would be no longer than any other. To Kyle however, it seemed twice as long. . .

Looking to his right and then his left, he spotted a person hobbling along next to the wall with long gray hair drooping past stooped shoulders. He recognized the old, hunchbacked, Hubert Hill from miles away. The old vulture was drunk most every day, just like many other occupants living under Colonial Apartments' roof. Instead of taking the usual route, Kyle smiled and made his way towards the man dragging himself across the wall.

Passing Mr. Hill's room, he found the door ajar. It was accompanied by a ripe stench, strong enough to make any man scrunch his face and turn away. Kyle was no exception, he set off down the hall after Mr. Hill.

"Mr. Hill! Are you aware your door is open? Or tell me, did one go out and drink too much again? You know. . . I hear that's unhealthy for old men like you. Your liver's going to clog up like a shit-filled toilet and burst one of these days, don't say I didn't warn you." Kyle kept his voice light and cheerful, but was shocked when the old drunk didn't whip around to curse at him. _Perhaps I was right all along and the man finally has gone insane, _Kyle thought to himself with a grin. "Oh Mr. Hill!"

The man stopped near a doorway, pressing one side of his face against the wall awkwardly. Kyle stopped to stare, it appeared all of Mr. Hill's weight rested against the wall. Beginning to ponder the unusual behavior, the dwarf heard the blaring car horns and sirens for the first time outside. Kyle furrowed his brows and looked to the ceiling as if expecting it to start raining cars. With no such luck, he lowered his gaze down the wall and froze on the spot, his eyes widening.

Slick, dark crimson had been smeared across the chalk-white walls.

Making a face, the dwarf approached, stretched up to swipe a finger across it, and then stuck the finger in his mouth. He sucked his finger clean and removed it from his mouth examining it like a doctor. _Blood for sure, _he realized, his gaze shooting back down the hall to Mr. Hill who still hadn't moved. _His blood? _

"Mr. Hill. . . Are you alright?" He called but didn't receive an answer. "Mr. Hill?"

Finally, the old man peeled himself from the wall and turned around to emit a shriek of inhuman proportions. Kyle stared in complete shock at his neighbor. What was left of Hubert Hill's face amounted to a bloodied mess of hanging skin and torn flesh. All one could distinguish from the mess was the old man's crooked nose, one harsh eye, and blood caked lips. The rest of his person was also rather blood soaked, especially his hands. The hallway's lighting made them shine a brilliant red.

"Anddddd. . . He still looks better than me," the dwarf muttered, seconds before Mr. Hill launched into a mad gimp towards him. Kyle frowned, and looked behind him in confusion. _Oh wait, if there's no one behind me. . . He's probably coming for. . . _

The dwarf jumped into a uncoordinated run back down the apartment hallway, his pursuer rasping behind him. It was all poor Kyle could do to keep from falling as he stumbled his way back towards his apartment, spying another badly wounded person at the other end of the hall.

"What is it with you people getting seriously hurt," he yelled, digging madly in his pocket for the key. He had reached his door but ugly Hubert Hill was just about upon him, clawing with bloodied hands. "AH SHIT!" The dwarf moved backwards just in time for his attacker to fall face first into the ground. Kyle stared in complete bewilderment, his hand still digging fiercely for the key stuck in the deepest bowel of his pocket. At last he tore it free, only to have Mr. Hill crawling towards him on all four limbs.

"Oh god, you're even uglier up close! No wonder your room smelt so terrible this morning," the dwarf exclaimed, backing himself against the door across from his. Mr. Hill wasn't hesitating, his wrinkled, blood stained hand inches from Kyle's face. "Ah, fuck off! You smell funny!" Kyle moved to the right and clumsily raised his briefcase high over his head, only to bring it crashing down over Mr. Hill's.

With a triumphant _thud, _Mr. Hill smacked the ground. Kyle smiled to himself all to pleased but turned just in time to see the other mutilated person dragging closer. She had been a woman wearing a nice dress, the flesh from her legs and neck missing. Now all that remained were bloody holes, gapping at Kyle like her red lips.

"What the hell is wrong with you people," Kyle demanded, scurrying to his door to shove the key in. He gave the knob a twist and rushed in, peeking through the door just in time to see Mr. Hill rise again, before slamming the door shut. Immediately Kyle pulled the kitchen chair close, ascended and stretched for the door lock. Gritting his teeth he strained his little arm to go higher and higher, desperately trying to reach the latch. _Come on you stubborn fool. Come on, she died bringing you into this world now don't waste her sacrifice! _

The thought inspired him. He had hold of the lock enough to slide it across the metal, sealing the door shut just as one of his attackers rammed the door, knocking him from the chair to the ground with a _bang. _

"Yeah, fuck you too," he grumbled, gathering himself off the floor. It was the next bang against the door that made him shove the chair underneath the door's handle to serve as a feeble barricade. He then backed away to stare in awe, wondering what the hell he had missed overnight. Curiosity overpowering his better judgment, Kyle made his way across the apartment bow-legged and goofy as always. Climbing atop his bed, he crawled to the window and took a deep breath. Without another moment's hesitation, he pulled the curtains aside and found his jaw dropping.

". . . _Well that's. . . That's peculiar," he heard himself say. _


	2. Faces

**Short of Decay **

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Deserted, abandoned, and unlocked. That was just the way Theo Snowden liked to find things.

In most cases, looting and thieving proved challenging. Only the deft of hand and incredibly sly were up for such a challenge, _but now. . . _Cars were left in the street unoccupied, doors were left open, and people were in hiding. Looting and thieving had gone from being a taboo, to a ritual. The only eyes roaming the city were the undead, and to Theo, they were seen simply as pests. Flies antagonizing the light bulb. _They would never be a real danger, but they would always be a nuisance, _he liked to tell himself.

The morning was bleak, gray, and ruinously lonely as Theo walked along. He kept both hands buried in the pockets of his gray jacket to stave off fall's icy bite. _Frostbite is the last thing one needed._

Like always, the young man had his tan satchel hanging from one shoulder against his hip, currently light as a feather. The hope today, was that he'd fill it with valuables. With what happened the night before, he figured it'd by like taking candy from a baby.

The first undead he encountered this morning, had been a police officer. Obese, balding and old, the officer was ghastly pale, his uniform stained in crimson. Already over the initial shock of seeing walking corpses from the night before, Theo calmly assessed the situation. Too easy, for nimble Theo to crouch and sneak past the zombie along the side of a black Chevy. Unaware of Theo's presence, the moaning officer dragged on down the car-congested street. Theo couldn't help but smile as he stood erect again, and continued his search for nice things. Nearly a half-hour passed before he found something of value in city's the concrete maze.

A red Shelby GT500. The sports car was glorious to behold parked against the curb, miraculously unharmed by the night's turn. _Too bad it won't fit in a satchel, _Theo mused in his head. Unlike most vehicles Theo had passed, this car didn't have so much as a single drop of blood on it. It managed to stay clean, _shining_ almost. It was more than Theo could have hoped for as he approached, his pale blue eyes lighting with excitement. Reaching the car, he placed a hand on the hood and slid it up to the car's open window, the smell of fresh leather greeting his nostrils. The same hand moved from the hood of the car to the door handle, but just as he gripped it, a cold shiver sparked down his spine.

"I'd let go of the car if I was you."

The voice possessed a southern tone Theo realized immediately, as he looked up to find a broad-shouldered stranger standing on the sidewalk. Theo was surprised to see another living, breathing person and narrowed his eyes, drinking in the fellow survivor. The man seemed normal enough, dark brownish-black hair covering the top of his head while a baseball sleeve shirt covered his muscular build. _And here I thought I was the only one, _Theo thought humorously.

"And just why should I do that," Theo asked, flicking light brown hair from his eyes. "Finders keepers? Are you trying to play that game? It's actually a personal favorite of mine."

The man regarded him coolly, his hands in fists at his sides. "No, I own it. And you should step away because I said so."

"How do I know you're not lying," Theo replied, a wry smile creeping beneath his hooked nose. "You could just be saying its your car when really. . . it used to belong to someone else. So tell me, just what sort of proof do you have? Hell, what's the plate number?" The man said nothing, continuing to glare. "That's kind of sad, you don't know your own plate number? Well here, let me tell ya." Theo walked to the front of the car, wary of the man's following eyes. "MGA-345. I get the feeling you didn't know that."

"Or maybe I just didn't have to answer. Now get lost. The world is hell enough without people like you."

Theo gave a reproachful look. "Ouch, ya know I think I might shed a tear!" The man remained cold as ice, he didn't even twitch at the sarcasm. "Wow, you're a real joy aren't cha? You keep on keeping on like this and any living person is going to leave your sorry ass in the dust. Not that that's my problem, mind you, I like the individual freedom." Still the man stared through him, mistrust evident on his face. A moment of vehement silence lingered between the two before the stranger reached behind his back and produced a gun. Theo froze as he stared down the shiny silver barrel. "Well, that's a pretty looking gun."

The pair of unacquainted young men gouged each other with their eyes until the scream of another turned their heads down the road. A chorus of moans and groans followed. A single ragged man jogged into the center of a three-way intersection, looking quite tired. He keeled over and leaned against a car, the abnormal groans echoing closer by the second. Theo was shocked to the see the man next to him raise his unarmed hand and wave.

"OVER HERE! HUR-," Theo tackled him to the unforgiving concrete before he could finish the words. After a few dazed moments, the man threw Theo off with ease, his face contorted in anger. "What the hell was that for!?" Behind him the first few walking dead came into view.

Theo half crouched, half stood from the ground, watching him intently. The herd's prey yelling out loud from the intersection.

"HEY! HELLO? ANYONE! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASEEEE!"

The armed man looked over his shoulder at the herd as they swarmed into the intersection, their target shambling in his vague direction. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, he whipped around just in time to see Theo slip into his home. A wave of anger came over him as his face boiled red.

"HEY GET OUT OF THERE," he shouted, bursting through the door with his gun aimed.

The shiny Colt six-shooter was a hand-me-down from his long deceased grandfather, and he was very familiar with how to use it. Even now, as he waved it through his residential shit hole of an apartment searching for an intruder, he could feel confidence and security radiating from the gun. It leaked through the gun into his hands and into his veins, filling him with heated adrenaline. The type of adrenaline that wouldn't make him think twice about pulling the trigger.

Slowly moving into the living room, he found everything undisturbed. Unfortunately, the apartment embraced a gloomy dark with the window shutters down, giving his intruder that many more places to hide. But he dare not open the shutters. It's hard to say how many dead were lurking just outside the glass. Speaking of the undead, his thoughts went back to the man in the street. Pity filled his chest and he found himself turning back to the door, only to be greeted with a frying pan.

The metal screeched against his skull, knocking him to the floor so hard, the gun went bouncing free of his hand. Wide-eyed with an agonizing banging in his head, he shuffled to his feet as Theo dropped the frying pan and dived for the gun. They crashed together in a heap on the floor with a thud, grunting as they both desperately reached for the gun mere inches away. On the bottom, Theo found himself at a disadvantage. _I should have killed him with the frying pan, _he thought glumly.

Together the two wrestled fiercely, Theo eventually rolling to his back in an attempt to escape. It was no use. All the maneuver did for him was pull his hair and give his adversary a better position over him. Before he could comprehend the rapid arm motions between the two, the man's hands found his throat. Theo's pale hands went to his choker's and tried to pry them loose, but the choker's strength surpassed his. The firm hands continued to crush the life from Theo's throat, reddening his face and blurring his vision. _Shit. . . End of the line? _Theo tried a feeble punch at the man's face but missed by a mile as darkness began to overcome him. _Shit. .. The world finally becomes completely free and I die. What irony. . . _

Just as the intruder's eyes creaked shut, Gary Carver released him to stare. _Did I just. . . Did I just kill this guy? No, no, no. . . _

Panic washed over him as he leaned down to the intruder's face, listening in apprehension. It was faint, so very faint, but he could make it out just barely. A labored, unconscious breathing. The intruder was alive, granting Gary the gift of relief. A true miracle, because there was no way he could cope with killing someone. . . _At least not this early in hell. . . _

Climbing off the younger man, he retrieved his revolver and abruptly remembered the man outside. Euphoric adrenaline filled him again as he rushed out the apartment door back onto the street to witness the inevitable.

The gray haired man was done for. Twenty yards from where Gary stood, the man already laid on the pavement flailing uselessly. The undead were tearing into him one by one, his screams growing louder and wilder with each new bloody face biting into him. After watching the blood bath for mere seconds, dirty blood-stained legs of the staggering horde blocked all vision of the dying victim. But the absolute worst part of it all, had to be the herd of undead lumbering down the street.

They were truly endless in number. Scarlet smeared face upon scarlet smeared face was all Gary could see. They stretched all the way back to the intersection like an army, and were _still _pouring from the other street like a flood. Bloody, filthy, and moaning. Gary made eye contact with a tall bald man tripping towards him, the rest of the herd seeming to follow. No longer able to hear the man's screams over their moans, Gary found it difficult to understand what he was doing. He gritted his teeth, raised the gun two-handed, and pulled the trigger.

The inner workings of the pistol ignited, a fiery explosion spitting the .357 round down the length of the six inch barrel. The sound left a ring in Gary's ears as the round spiraled into the skull of the bald man, spewing brain matter, blood, and bone to the cement below. The mangled corpse of the once human fell backwards at the feet of a dozen more of its kind, each groaning their legs to hobble faster. Gary let loose a gasp and started to back peddle, the majority of the herd's focus now on him. He fired another shot, this bullet clipping a shoulder and ripping through a hand before resting in the chest of a fat African-American. Gary began to panic. Hands shaking, perspiration dripping, eyes scanning faces wildly, he turned and ran back inside.

Without thinking the door slammed shut behind him, the shrieks of the undead rapidly increasing in volume. He locked it and backed away, staring in complete disbelief. It didn't long for the first of the ghouls to reach the door, their hands pounding and clawing at the white wood. _The backdoor, that was his best route for escape. _

Jogging through the living room with gun in hand, he snatched a duffle bag from the couch and heaved it over a shoulder. Frisking his person to make sure he had what he wanted, he stormed down the small hallway past a tiny bathroom and pitiful bedroom. Reaching the back door, he opened it cautiously, only to find the back alley empty. A single shoe got out the door before realization dawned on him. . .

_He was forgetting something. _

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It's difficult to say how long Kyle sat in his apartment, listening to the crazies abuse his door. So far the small man had consumed three mugs of coffee, pissed four times, and taken a long, satisfying shit. Knowing his luck, he was quite amazed the door didn't give while he was on the toilet. Course that would have been a shitty death, quite literally. Alas, Kyle Quincent remained alive. He sat on the floor, staring at the wall deep in thought.

_I could open the door and let them kill me. . . I mean, its not like my life got any better with their arrival. _

The choice was very much entirely his, and he hated it. He despised nearly everything about his life. His job, his family, hell, even his apartment. He had nothing, and for the first time, he was actually beginning to grasp the concept.

His gaze drooping from the wall for the first time in what felt like years, he slowly staggered to his feet and even slower, waddled to his bed. Heaving himself onto the mattress, he crawled across the sheets to once again view the outside world. It hadn't changed from before.

Nickel Street, one of the city's busiest marketing streets, was a disaster. Everywhere one could look from Kyle's height would to make one frown. Cars were crashed, upturned, smoking, dented, and beaten. Some even burned, small little flames creeping underneath their dented hoods. They reminded Kyle of mouths with cigarettes, flames flickering between metal lips.

Perhaps in more pain than the cars, were the shops. Shattered glass, merchandise, and blood spat from their brick faces like vomit. Up and down the street every building's shop copied the other, regardless of how popular it once was. Even Kyle's favorite pawn shop on the end looked to be in bad shape. All of it was downright depressing.

And then there were the bodies. . . Some walked and some didn't, but every last one was mangled, crimson, and decaying. Their stench already reeking its way through the city like a snake, casting a shroud of relentless rot. Kyle dared not observe much longer for fear of retching, and pulled himself away to lay on the bed.

He found himself staring at the mundane ceiling, pondering life like he never had before. _Stay here and starve to death, or open the door and embrace death? What a pleasant decision to make! _A smile danced across his lips.

Allowing his mind to run free, he thought of his customers. Each and every damn one coming to him for financial advice, and each and every damn one stopping to snicker before taking him seriously. _Well they all got theirs. . . The lot of them are hopefully dead by now. _

His thoughts then went to his family. Garret Quincent, his millionaire father, renown for his hotel business. Marsha Quincent, his eternally bitter sister. And of course, Derrick, his famous brother. All three were much more pleasant people than him, and much fairer to look upon. However, underneath fake pearly smiles, they might as well be one person. Hate itself lived in the trio. They breathed, ate, slept, and dreamt of hatred for one particular person. Little, ugly, Kyle Quincent. _The murderer and final son of the beloved Taylor Quincent. . ._

Lingering on photographs of his mother in his head, Kyle stirred and leapt off the bed curling his fists. Sometimes he _really_ disliked his thought process. This was one such instance.

Irritated, the dwarf began to pace the apartment. Hands clasped behind his back, his eyes found the floor and his feet shuffled along. His mind raced, his heart beat quickening. Soon sweat began to trickle past his brow, causing him to rip the suit coat from his shoulders and throw it the carpet. A new concept had burrowed into him. A new hope, a new belief. . . _A fresh start in a world of chaos. _

Kyle stopped pacing. Determination filled his little heart as he eyed the door, envisioning the monsters on the other side.

"Right," he said quietly, making for the kitchen cabinets. Inside he grabbed the first lethal utensil he found, a five inch knife. It would serve as good as anything else he found, so he took it and approached the chair-guarded door with apprehension. "Well. . . this is for you mother... wish me luck."

Kyle yanked the chair from its tilted position and waited, coming to the conclusion that if he didn't open the door himself, it might take awhile for the door to give. So grumbling curses to himself, the dwarf seized the chair, pulled it back and climbed on top of it. He struggled to keep his footing against the shaking wood, but bit his lip, giving his best attempt to reach the lock. He succeeded much quicker than before, but was taken totally unaware when the door flew open, slamming him against the wall.

In stumbled grotesque Hubert Hill and the woman, both falling into each other along with the kitchen table. They rolled together in a jumble of gnashing teeth, growls, and thuds before coming to rest near Kyle's bedroom. A streak of red ran along the tile pointing after them, giving Kyle a clear sense of where to find them as he regained his footing behind the door. He slipped out of the crevice just in time for the woman to spot him and hiss.

"Yes, yes, hiss, hiss. Come on you stupid bitch, I'm right here, come and get me," he said from the apartment doorway, sounding much braver than he really was. The horrific creatures wrestled apart from each other and began a crude march towards him. The knife in Kyle's hand felt foreign as sweat pooled in his palm. Then with a shriek, the women fell on him. The knife dug deep into her shoulder as they toppled backwards on to the hallway floor.

Kyle pushed with all his might, his hands only succeeding in keeping the woman's snapping jaws from his lips. In addition to keeping cannibalism at bay, the dwarf was forced to smell her rancid breath. The foul scent scrunching Kyle's face up just as his neighbor joined the dog pile, flopping right on top of the woman's back. His expression went from disgusted to pained at the weight change, his stubby arms shaking with the effort of keeping his face from hers.

"I . . . don't . . . want to . . . kiss you, woman!" As if replying to his shout, the woman's putrid red eyes grew bigger. Her pupils casting his reflection as she edged closer with open jaws, Kyle closed his eyes. _A dwarf was never destined for this world. . . Best to die trying rather than not, right? _

Despite his eyes being closed, he sensed the shift of focus away from him.

One eye flicked open just in time for the woman's matted hair to sweep his face. She was looking down the hallway, but at what? _A more appetizing meal than me? _

"WHAT'S UP BITCHES!"

A woman's freakish loud voice came from above, accompanied by a swooshing sound that ended with a sick crunch. From Kyle's position he couldn't hope to see who was beyond the nasty woman's head, so logically, he squirmed. Without the woman's grueling stare, he found it quite easy to slip from her grasp and pop out on his rump from underneath her. Hissing, her gaze returned to his, but only for a second.

"AND BAM BITCH! ONE FOR YOU TOO!" An aluminum bat swept down at the woman's head, catching her in the side of the face and claiming a chunk of her cranium. Bits of bone, hair, and blood spattered to the floor and Kyle's shoes, the dwarf's jaw dropping in appall. He inclined his head upwards only to find he didn't have to look very far, she like him, was quite short.

"Heyyy, you're the little dude! The midget that lives here," she exclaimed, her bright smile contrasting her copper-colored face. The African-American woman was his savior, and gods be good did Kyle find her attractive. Curves where they needed to be, short dark burgundy hair cut close to the scalp, and a very pretty face. He was disappointed to remember who she was.

"And you're the whore," he replied, perhaps too coolly.

The woman's eyes lost their cheer and narrowed. "Well aren't you a charming little shit. I just saved your life and that's what you have to say? No thank you, or oh Cheri, thank god you came! Just, 'Oh, and you're the whore!' Come on man, that's low, even for someone of your height!"

Kyle scowled and gathered his feet, patting the blood off his shirt.

"Well, for your information, I take great offense to be called a midget."

"AND I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE TO BEING CALLED A WHORE!" Kyle was stunned at the retort, and had to regain his composure to face the taller woman. Albeit, she was hardly any taller than he was. _Maybe ten inches. . . Can't even be a foot taller, _the dwarf determined. "So, you gonna thank me or just stare?"

Kyle swallowed, his throat desert-dry from the near death encounter. "T-Thank you, for saving my life," he stammered. He faced down the hallway instead of at her, the improper mannerism made the woman roll her eyes. Between their feet lay the new skull-dashed bodies, each stiff as a dead tree coated in crimson.

"Apology so not accepted, but no worries, you can make up for it down the road." Kyle looked to her in mild surprise. "What? You wanna split up and try surviving on your own? Have you seen the city? Everything's fucked. . . we should stick together." Kyle wrestled with his tongue and thoughts for words. "As long as you can watch my back, I got yours. What do you say little man?"

_Maybe this new world is the start of some freak show heaven for me. _

"To that, I say I will try not to be a burden." His eyes examined the silverfish-red bat clutched in her hand warily. _So much blood is going to make that thing rust._ "I'm afraid dwarfism isn't the easiest thing to simply shake off." To that, she laughed, getting him to smile slightly.

"_Well, nice to finally meet you neighbor. . . the name's Cheri." _

* * *

**A/N: This story hasn't been worked on for a very long time. Not since last year in fact! But here's where things stand as far as OC submissions:**

**Currently have three OCs: Theo Snowden, Gary Carver, and Cheri Henderson. I am accepting only five more people! Please fill out the rubric and send your characters to me in a PM if you wish to submit! Then just stay posted for acceptance. **

**On another note, hope everyone has enjoyed the story thus far! **


	3. Little Dude

**Short of Decay **

* * *

"Not exactly the most opportune time to meet for the first time, but some time is better than no time I suppose. My name is Kyle. Kyle Quincent."

Cheri flashed a bright smile and nodded her head back down the hallway. The very same direction Kyle had started this crazy morning. "Come on, let's see what we can dig up at my place before we set out," she said, already walking.

Kyle waddled after her in confusion, sparing the corpses behind him a longing look. An eerie fact occurred in his head, _those were once people like Cheri and I. . . _

"Um, set out?" He asked, "I'm sorry, I don't follow." His eyes couldn't resist the temptation to admire her rear as he chased her down the hallway. It was just _so_ perfect. . .

"I guess you wouldn't see it because you're looking out the other side of the building. In my place you can see it clearly from my window, I'll show you." Kyle could only wonder what she meant as she led the way into an open doorway; four doors down from Kyle's apartment across the hallway.

It was a modest apartment, identical to Kyle's with an extreme change in décor and furniture. Unlike Kyle, who kept his living space rather plain, Cheri's home kept a livelier feel. Two large, bean bag chairs sat facing a small television in the corner near the window, and a messy bed obviously meant for one hugged the wall tightly. Dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink, everything from bills to letters cluttered the small dining table, and various band posters coated the walls. It all felt very foreign to Kyle, but then he remembered he was nearing the age of forty. This is what a young person's apartment looks like. A young woman's actually.

"Nice place," Kyle murmured, eyes wandering the messy home. "Not one for cleaning much though, are you? That's okay..." He froze at Cheri's glare, her hands mounted on her hips in an insulted manner. "No offense intended, of course," Kyle swiftly assured, raising his hands.

"You're a very rude little man, aren't you?"

"Only sometimes," Kyle lied.

"Bull shit. All the time," Cheri shot back, flashing a wicked grin.

"Okay, yes. Maybe I could be considered a bit inconsiderate. Oh well." The dwarf attempted to hide his displeasure. He didn't like being called out, especially when the person doing so was correct. "Now, this thing you were talking about showing me. Out the window?"

Shaking her head with a humorous smile, Cheri set the baseball bat down and walked over to the window. Resting one hand on the windowsill, her smile evaporated at the madness below. _Just when I start turning my life around and the world goes to shit, _she thought sadly. She motioned Kyle forward after taking a few seconds to dwell on the dismal insight. "Here," she said gently, "Watch the street. They should be here any minute."

"Who," Kyle blurted, appearing beside her. Disappointment stirred butterflies in his stomach when he couldn't peer out the window on his own two legs. Swallowing his meager pride, he stepped on a bean bag chair to elevate himself and gaze out the glass.

"The army, I think," Cheri answered reluctantly, her chocolate eyes focused out the window. That was her best guess anyway. "They've been driving by every two hours since 9 this morning."

Kyle furrowed his brow. "Doing what, exactly? Parading around to show us where all our tax money goes?"

Cheri frowns. "Hell, I wish. No, they've been driving around killing anyone dead and walking." Her gaze shifted to Kyle's. "And rescuing anyone alive."

"Charming," Kyle said, lifting his heels to better examine the view. The horrors he witnessed outside his own bedroom window remained present in a similar manner. It drew the mind boggling question to surface, "What the hell happened last night?"

Cheri sighed, "No idea. I finished work late last night. On my way home, some hobo tried biting me. I escaped and ran home, tried calling the police, and then sat up all night watching this shit. Television, internet, phone service… it all crashed by 3 am." The long, horrific night replayed in her mind, causing an icy shiver to slither down her spine. She wanted to pretend it was all one, big, awful nightmare that just wouldn't go away; but it wasn't. It was _real_. Recalling the night's events made her shoulders droop, fear and exhaustion taking its hefty toll on her lithe frame. She had to shake herself to prevent her eyelids from closing. "I'm just hoping the soldiers can give us some answers." Abruptly, she spun away from the window, striding over to her untidy bed. "Keep a look out for them. I'm gonna pack a few things before we set out."

Kyle frantically followed her, instantly forgetting about her request. "Set out? Are you mad?! Or did you forget about those things we just fought in the hallway?" Kyle picked a magazine off the floor to show her. Celebrities layered the cover in bright, vivid pictures. "This. See this," he pointed at the magazine, "If everything's fucked, according to you… then stuff like this doesn't exist anymore. We can't just waltz around anymore! Life as we know it has completely changed; and not for the better I might add. So I ask you, how the hell are we supposed to 'set out' with those _things_ roaming the streets!? I mean, they're obviously not friendly! Two of them just tried biting my face off for fuck's sake!"

Cheri took a deep breath, stuffing some clothes in a backpack. _Who knew a dwarf could be so ornery? This explains why the neighbor never spoke very highly of him… _

"Oh trust me, I know they're not friendly," Cheri eventually said, nodding at the bloody baseball bat nearby. "But what's your grand plan if we stay, genius?" She eyed the dwarf mischievously. "Repopulate the town with a bunch of midget wiggers until we starve? That's even more insane."

Kyle's face scrunched in misunderstanding. _Wigger? _He mouthed the word to himself so many times he felt stupid.

Cheri smirked. "Wigger. A white nigger, ya know? Half white, half black," she explained, rolling her hands for emphasis.

Kyle bobbed his head, "Oh, how lovely. Being black and a dwarf is probably the worst fate imaginable. I certainly hope there are not many in the world, for their sake." Then Kyle grinned, "I do very much prefer the idea of making midget wiggers however. It very much beats the idea of setting out to die."

Cheri laughed, shoveling bottled water from beneath her bed into the bag. "Sorry honey, but you're really not my type."

"Of course I'm not, but that's what makes it fun." Seriousness taking over, Kyle started to pace the room, rubbing his chin. "Look, Cheri, I'm telling you it's suicide if we go out there. Let's wait for the help to find us. Surely they'll send out search parties. I mean, isn't that the logical thing to do in this sort of situation?"

She responded with a reproachful look. "Sure, but what if they don't?"

"Send out search parties? What do you mean 'if they don't'? Of course they will. It's their damn job."

"Yeah, and sometimes people don't always do their jobs," she replied, standing with the navy-blue backpack in hand. She moved to the wooden dresser next to her bed to find a flashlight, antibiotics, and pepper spray. "If you're gonna do something right, then you gotta do it yourself." She spun around to face Kyle, allowing a gloomy smile. "I learned that the hard way."

The words struck him like a ton of bricks, knocking him into paralysis. For the first time since meeting, the finicky dwarf kept quiet. Silent as a mouse. His blue eyes drifted from Cheri to the floor, a depressed stillness consuming the room. Cheri slipped the backpack straps over her shoulders, eyeing him warily.

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat to pull him back to reality. "So what's it gonna be, little man? Are you coming with me or staying…? I can take you back to your room if you decide to stay… but I'm going. No matter what."

Kyle met her gaze, his brows raised. "You're right."

It was finally Cheri's turn to be confused. "Excuse me?"

"You're right. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," the dwarf repeated, nodding his head to the saying. "I too learned that the hard way…" His auburn head dipped to the floor, then popped back up. Chin raised and tight lipped for a few moments, he made his decision. "I'm coming with you."

Cheri presented the sincerest smile possible. "I'm glad. Always wanted to know a little dude." _And I need someone to talk to out there. No one should have to die alone in this living nightmare. _

Kyle spread his arms wide and half smiled. "I'll be that little… dude, then. Let's just uh, try not to get killed. Sound fair?"

"Definitely."

Their glorious connection is cut short by the boisterous cough of a jeep. Both of them whipped their heads to the window, but Cheri didn't need to see camouflage to know who the jeep belonged to.

"Come on," she urged, snatching her aluminum baseball bat. "We have to hurry if we're gonna make it to them. They're three blocks away."

"Well, then we better hurry," is all Kyle managed, before the woman rushed out the door. Straining his stubby legs to move faster than usual, Kyle pursued her out of the apartment, back into the once mundane hallway. It took mere seconds to discover they weren't alone.

The blob of shambling abominations hobbled forward like a cloud of poisonous gas. Kyle's jaw fell slack, while Cheri bit her lip and stared. The atrocities possessed familiar faces, but their glistening flesh betrayed such pitiful disguises. Teeth and nails caked crimson, clothes dotted with tears, and bloodshot eyes formed an impenetrable wave. The remnants of human life engulfed the hallway, edging closer to their prey. Traumatized, Cheri and Kyle watched in disgust.

"Well there's the neighborhood," Kyle eventually muttered, making a pained expression.

"Yeahhhh. And damn have they all looked better." Cheri jerked a thumb over her shoulder, her eyes not leaving the monsters. "I say we go that way."

Kyle nodded. "Excellent idea. Let's run." In unison they put their backs to the vile creatures and sprinted down the hallway's remainder. Cheri beat Kyle to the staircase by miles, stopping to hold the door open for her short companion. As she did so, she couldn't help but stare at her neighbors. Pity gripped her chest. _Mr. Thomas, Linda, Tony… I'm so sorry. _

Descending the stairs, blood stains and scuff marks indicated a violent night. At the stairs' bottom, they turned left rather than right. Right would take them through Colonial apartment's first floor, and they had already seen enough deceased neighbors for one day. So yes, fall's cool breeze was a much less intimidating foe to face.

Unfortunately, Colonial apartment's parking lot turned out to be a kill zone. Three demons hunched over a corpse near the tires of a truck. Another undead misfit shuffled along mindlessly, oblivious to Kyle and Cheri's hushed jog.

Kyle stopped to catch his breath, when they reached the parking lot's edge. "Wouldn't it make more sense to take a car?"

"Hell no," Cheri replied instantly, surveying the damaged street ahead. "These things are attracted to sound. Cars especially. So shut up!"

"Too late," Kyle groaned, watching the parking lot's ugly trio stand. He found it easier to keep an eye on those he didn't know. Hubert Hill had been difficult to comprehend… and kill. Despite the dwarf's dislike of the man.

"Shit. Come on, we gotta move!" Cheri broke into a sprint down the sidewalk, her feet avoiding rummage, glass, and blood stains. To the best of his little ability, Kyle followed. They turned up Lincoln Street at the corner, now in perfect view of Cheri's apartment window.

The dead bodies and destruction affected the mind much more up close. Over turned cars? Shattered glass? Dozens of mutilated human carcasses? That sort of thing should stay in movies, not real life. Kyle struggled not to gag when he passed a woman who had been ripped in half, her half-eaten intestines draped over the concrete like red spaghetti. Cheri paid the woman no mind, her determination propelling her. Only after covering two blocks did more of their city's killers appear. _Too many._

And worst of all… the jeep was absent. Morale plummeting, Cheri sank to her knees by the curb. When Kyle caught up, panting heavily, the stumbling pack of undead had noticed them.

"Shit… aw shit, man. Fuck. God dammit," Cheri cursed, warm tears leaking down her copper cheeks. The jeep left. Help had abandoned them for at least another two hours… _if not forever._ Rising panic devoured her mind, drowning out her surroundings. Kyle's persistent voice and shaking were mere buzzing in her ears.

"Cheri. Oh, Cheri! Anyone in there?! HELLO! HEY LADY! Earth to, Cheri!" Kyle's eyes locked on the approaching cannibals, their outstretched arms getting far too close for his liking. "Cheri, you _whore!_ Get up!"

"The fuck did you just call me," Cheri demanded, snapping out of her trance. She stood awkwardly, then acknowledged their peril. "Oh shit, stand back, I got this," she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes. Gripping the bat two-handed like any average baseball player would, she waited patiently for the first walker to come within range. _Thwack_. The aluminum bat made contact with bone, bashing the disfigured man's face into mush. With the man's collapse, it dawned on Cheri that there were too many for her to take on alone.

Taking several steps backward, her eyes swiped to the alleyway on her right. The metal ladder led to a fire escape. _Safety. _

"Kyle, make a run for the alley and climb up that fire escape!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Kyle exclaimed, scurrying across the street and into the alley. "You know how I said I could be a burden? Well yeah, I can't reach!"

Cheri joined him seconds later, the group of ghouls stumbling off the sidewalk to cross the street. "Okay, okay, hang on," she gasped, dropping the bat. "Okay, on three, jump! One… two… three!" In a vain attempt, she tried hefting the heavy dwarf. His reach fell just short of the ladder's first rung when she dropped him, cursing. "Damn it!"

"Here, let me," the voice of a stranger sounded behind them. Kyle didn't have time to protest, as firm hands lifted him into the air. This time, Kyle snagged the ladder's third rung with both hands, and caught the first rung with a foot.

Bewildered at the sight of not just one other living person, but two, Cheri glowed. "Hell yeah, thanks man! Go! I'll hold them off til we all climb up." Adrenaline searing, she turned to facedown the flesh-eater's initial charge. Something silver appeared in the corner of her vision. Her head twisted just in time for the revolver to fire, immobilizing her hearing.

"No, you go first. I'll hold them," the man said, his cold gray eyes potent with focus. He shot a glare her way when she didn't budge. "NOW!"

Stunned by the man's resolve and courage, she obeyed. In a matter of seconds, she found herself next to Kyle and another man on the fire escape's first landing. She did a double take at the other stranger. _His hands were handcuffed…  
_

"Good work, down there," Kyle chimed, allowing a smirk. Cheri slapped him, hard. "Ow, fuck! What the hell was that for," the dwarf asked, holding his inflamed cheek.

"For calling me a whore!" She turned to the stranger, his pale-blue eyes alight with amusement. "Thanks for the save, we owe you guys one!"

The man flipped his wheat-brown hair, spiteful eyes lurching to the muscular man climbing up the ladder. "Don't thank me," he said hoarsely, "Thank him."

Cheri and Kyle stepped aside so their real savior could get off the ladder. He did so with ease, his brown jacket speckled with gore from the day's troubling events. Swiping at sweat on his brow, he kept the pistol in hand and stared down at the gathering demons below.

"Hey," Cheri said, tapping his broad shoulder, "Thanks for helping us down there." She gave him a bright smile, but the man frowned in return. Slowly, his gaze rose from the crowding alleyway to meet hers.

"_Don't thank me yet."_

* * *

**A/N: And finally an update! Whew. All I have to say this chapter, is way to be a burden, Kyle. Haha! Thanks for reading folks, your reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated!**

**P.S: This story is still accepting five OCs. To create one, fill out the rubric offered in the story's first chapter and PM it to me. No guarantees the character will be accepted or not. Preferably some older characters. The first three OCs are all in their twenties! Silly young folk. **


	4. Hope Drives

**Short of Decay **

* * *

She stared at him, hugging her knees to her chest. Her lover, her husband, her daughter's father. _Dead._

The man was sprawled out on the kitchen floor awkwardly, limbs twisted as if his body were a rag doll. A lake of blood stretched far and wide, his torn, chewed flesh making up the center. The creatures had ravaged him, broken him beyond repair, and consumed him. Literally.

"J-John…" she murmured, her face drenched in warm, salty tears. She sniveled, her face falling into the wet fold of her arm for a hundredth time. _Why, John? Why did you have to die? I need you. _

It had been an hour since she found him, yet still she refused to leave. Lifting her head, her watery, blue eyes latched on to where his face should be. It resembled bright red meatloaf, clumpy and glistening. The gruesome sight would surely make most people vomit, but not her. _Never_ her, she wasn't most people. Camille Breen was accustomed to the dead. She gazed at them almost every day, as if they were her colleagues at lunchtime. For you see, Camille served as a coroner for the police station's homicide division. Only, not once did Camille ever imagine she'd be taking work home with her…

Or that reanimated corpses, the unanimated subject of her profession, would be her husband's _killers_.

It all seemed completely impossible, a figment of some long-lasting nightmare. Unfortunately, despite how much Camille wished it were a nightmare, this was not and never would be true. The truth was that Camille could smell her husband's ripe corpse, feel the cool Fall breeze on her skin from the ajar window, and fully knew her heart was broken. The truth had immobilized her for the past hour. And her husband's corpse had permanently implanted itself within her skull… a cruel reminder of what her world had become overnight.

Peeling her glossy eyes from the corpse, she found hope in a picture held by a magnet to the fridge. _My daughter, Sarah… where are you? _

She had searched the two-story house high and low for her daughter_. _Expecting the worst, the same fate as her late husband. Miraculously, Sarah hadn't been discovered. In fact, the house remained entirely intact… nothing disturbed but her dead husband in the kitchen. Which meant Sarah could possibly be alive…

_I have to find her, _Camille thought desperately, clinging to the slim hope. It granted her the strength to stand, her fists clenching. _She's alive. I know she is. _

Camille rushed upstairs to her closet, tossing her husband's black duffel bag to the bed. She proceeded to fill it with clothes, family photos, her handgun, and anything else she thought useful. Briskly pulling on her blue wind jacket, she snatched the bag and descended the stairs, her breath growing rapid with exhilaration. _Every second I waste is another second Sarah is out there alone. She could be anywhere by now. _

Returning to the smelly kitchen, her black sneakers squeaked to a stop upon the tile. Her sympathetic eyes fell to the deceased man again, lingering in sorrow. After mere seconds, she swiped at her tear-soaked face, then continued forward for the front door. Just as her hand gripped the icy, metal knob, the door flew open in a blur of motion.

A man burst into the house, a symphony of moans reverberating behind him. He spared Camille a brief glance, his ocean-blue eyes wide in panic. Abruptly, he shoved her away from the door, and slammed it. Putting his back against it, he pushed shaggy dirt-blonde hair over his head and stared at her.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Camille demanded, her eyes alight with hostility.

The man scratched his beard stubble, his movements frantic and skittish. "Oh yeah, because it's perfectly fine to be standing outside right now. Such a beautiful day!" He scowls, the door starting to thump and buckle against him. Wretched, inhuman growls threaten to overwhelm his voice, so he raises it to an audible level. "Besides, what do you mean your house!? Nobody has a house anymore! This is a brand new frontier called hell, lady!"

Camille unzipped the duffel bag, drew her pistol, and cocked it. "Right. A new frontier? That gives you all the reason you need to break into people's homes and steal their things, yeah?" The gun takes aim at the man, his eyes widening. "Get out. Now."

"Are you that fucking heartless, lady? I can't go out there, those things are knocking on your fucking door for crying out loud! It's suicide!" He bounced, his weight proving inefficient against the creatures' combined strength. Surprisingly, his recovery was quick and remarkable, and somehow the door held. "Come on! We need to get the fuck out of here!"

While her body didn't twitch, the gears in her head spun. If she forced him back out the door she sentenced him to death. If she let him in… who knows what he's capable of? _But am I really willing to let this man die? What would Sarah think of her mother? What would John say? _

"Fine. We'll run to the backdoor," she said, turning away only to stop and look over her shoulder. "But if you so much as dare to step back into my home, I'll kill you. We clear?"

The man regarded her with an uncertain twist of his head. When he bounced against the door again, he gave in. "Alright, yeah, fine! Let's just go! Please!"

Camille nodded, her distraught depression fading with resolve. If she brooded over her lost husband, these things would devour her too. She didn't intend to die… _not when she had a daughter to live for. _

"Let's go, then." Camille said, breaking into a sprint without a second thought. Her intruder followed, his heavy breathing and footsteps right on her heels. An earth-shaking _SNAP _signified the kitchen door's destruction, a fleet of ragged footsteps smashing against the tile. "Hurry, through here," Camille urged, throwing the mudroom door open. The stranger didn't think twice, running right past her. Camille remained long enough to see the first grizzly, undead round the corner, then slammed the door in her swelling defeat. _Goodbye, home. Goodbye, John. _

She spun around to find the lean man peering over the edge of a white, picket fence. Her neighbor's fence, actually. Moments later, he gave her the thumbs up.

"Hop the fence," he said, adjusting one of three purple armbands on his wrist. "They can't jump fences. They just run into them." He looked up from his trinkets to meet Camille's reluctance. "What? You want to live or not?"

"Of course I want to live," she retorted, taking a fierce step forward. "My daughter is out here somewhere… I _need_ to find her."

For the first time, the stranger takes a deep breath. His body's light trembling disappears in the depth of his thoughts. _For Christ's sake do something right with your life_, _Dom. _ Biting his lip, a compassion he wasn't sure he still possessed poured through.

"Okay, yeah," he started nodding, his dirt-blonde hair swaying to the motion. "We'll try to find her. How old is she? Maybe I saw her earlier today."

"She's twelve," Cam said instantly, the house door behind her whining. Camille shot it an irritated look, then pointed to the fence. "Come on, let's get over the fence and give ourselves some distance."

"Worst idea I ever heard," he joked back, already halfway over the fence.

Camille followed diligently, landing in the other yard with her gun aimed. As much fear as the man seemed to have for his life, she refused to take any chances and let him get any sort of advantage over her. His clothing, tattooed hands, and unkempt hair didn't impress her. He looked to be typical scum, the type of person who bent the rules or worse, broke them all together. Assumption in place, she decided to keep a strict, watchful eye on him.

Scanning her neighbor's backyard, Camille did the only desperate, motherly thing she could think of to find her daughter. "SARAH!" She waited a few seconds, then called out again. Every inch of her being begging her daughter's sweet, sing-song voice to respond. "SARAH! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Dom charged her, grabbing her shoulders despite the pistol jamming into his gut. Expression wild, he spared the gun but a glance then met her cold glare.

"What the hell are you doing? You'll call the whole fucking horde!" He turned his head to look at her sideways, his brows raised. "Or do you want to die after all? We're not doing Sarah any good by getting ourselves killed, you know."

_Patronized by a punk. Jesus Christ, he's right. What am I doing? _

"Get your hands off me." When he obeyed and cautiously backed away, she lowered the gun. "You're right," she relented, her downcast gaze falling to the grass.

Gathering the reins on her crazy desperateness, a steel-chain wrapped itself around her heart. Too strong of emotions could very well get her killed in this new, ghoul-infested city. That would not bode well for Sarah… _if the poor girl was still alive. _Camille tightened her grip on the pistol and clenched her other hand into a fist at the awful thought. The worry tortured her motherly soul. But if Sarah was going to be found at all, then first things first. She, Camille Breen, needed to _live_.

"You okay, over there," the man asked, scratching one of his arms. "Sitting here all day doesn't help us find your daughter either."

"I know." Camille spared her neighbor's house a glance, then focused on him. "You've been out here in this… longer than I have. So tell me, what's the best way to look for her? A car?"

Dom shook his head violently. "Cars are a bad idea. I've seen three cars try to maneuver the streets today. They all ended up trapped, cornered and well… you know." He walked to the backyard's opposite side, peeking over the fence. "I recommend a much more subtle approach. We stick to houses and stay off the streets." He moved back from the fence to unlatch the gate on the house's side. "Can you think of any place she might go? A neighbor's or friends?"

Camille frowned and shook her head. "No. Not really. All I know is she started from our house. She couldn't have gotten too far, at least… not on her own."

"Well at least we know where she started out from," he sighed, brushing the hair from his face again. Abruptly, he extended a hand for a handshake. "My name's Dominick by the way, but uh, friends call me Dom."

Hesitantly, she gave his hand a quick, solid shake. "I'm Camille, but people call me Cam." He nods and starts toward the gate when she continues, "And… thanks for helping me find her." He whirls around in surprise, her tone completely serious as tears well up in her eyes. "Sarah means the world to me."

* * *

Talking over the mutilated, mob below wasn't easy. Worse yet, the monsters continued to grow in numbers, clawing uselessly along the structure's brick wall. Kyle had been watching them dismally for the past few minutes, while the others argued.

"So let me get this straight, he's in cuffs because he's a criminal you picked up on patrol last night?" Cheri questioned, as if she didn't quite believe what she was saying.

"Yeah, I've got my badge. I can prove it," Gary replied, fumbling in his cargo pants' pocket. His so-called 'criminal' didn't agree.

"Didn't know you were such a good liar, Texas," Theo cooed, from his seat on the building's overhang. He smirked when Gary shot daggers from his eyes. "Oh what? Was I not supposed to tell them the truth? Hm, well that wouldn't be very noble of me would it?"

Cheri flicked her chocolate eyes between the two newcomers, doubt trickling along her spine. _One of these two is lying… _

"Can it," Gary grumbled, producing a police badge from his pocket. He handed it to Cheri, putting on his best poker face. "Despite the circumstances, this man is dangerous. He should be kept in cuffs."

Cheri returned the badge with a wry smile. "Well I'll be damned, officer. Things gonna get better now that we got you here?"

"You actually believe that liar," Theo piped, leaping to his feet. His strode over to them pugnaciously, his body etched in anger. "He's lying, he picked the cuffs and badge off a dead cop on the way here! I was unconscious and when I woke…" He held up his restrained hands. "Well I'm sure you can imagine the rest." Theo narrowed his pale-blue eyes at Gary in resent. "Liars don't make for good cops."

"I said can it!" Gary presented Cheri an apologetic smile, but she folded her arms and frowned. That's when he knew the jig was up. He had always been a bad liar and this woman had seen right through his deceit. "Okay, fine. I'm not really a cop and he's not really a criminal. But he did attack me in my own home earlier." He indicated the bulbous, red-black bruise on his forehead. "See?"

Theo protested, his tone accusatory and crude. "Only because you threatened to kill me! He has a gun, what was I supposed to do? Let him shoot me?"

"You're a fucking rattle snake with a wicked tongue!" Gary snapped, his frustration climbing. He stepped into Theo's space, jabbing an index finger into the younger man's sternum. "One of these days, I might just rip it out."

Cheri intervened. She touched his broad shoulder gently, the bat secretly ready to swing in her other hand should the big man's anger retaliate. "Tell me what really happened. Come on, man… we can't survive this shit and be lying to one another." Cheri gave the restrained man a pointed expression. "Or killing each other for that matter."

"Words well spoken," Theo agreed, lifting his wrists at his captor. Gary eyed them in hate, but nonetheless produced the key from his pocket. Instead of freeing Theo however, he pushed it into Cheri's hand and stormed across the roof's threshold. Theo's lips twisted into a mad grin. "Sorry about him, Texas is a bit of a nasty customer. If you catch my drift."

Cheri sighed, removing the cuffs from the stranger's chaffed, pale wrists. "You got a name?"

"Theo. Theo Snowden, my lovely angel." Gratefully, he massaged his freed wrists, his smug grin maintaining. "And your name is?"

"You can call me Cheri," she said, flashing a brief smile. _How do I trust people after they lie in this kind of a situation? _She spared the other man a glance, he was pacing restlessly along the rooftop's other side. Apparently searching for a way down. _But he never told me what really happened... _

"Ohhhhh Cheri!"

_There's a familiar, trustworthy voice. My little dude… _

"What's up, little dude," Cheri asked, jogging over to Kyle's position. The dwarf had moved away from the alley to keep watch on the intersection. Even if Kyle had never moved though, the approaching vehicle's roar would have alerted everyone on the rooftop. "Oh I gotcha, now we're talking," Cheri whispered, her eyes glued to the scene below.

The black Jeep Wrangler rolled into the intersection urgently, its growling engine notified every moving corpse within the vicinity. The jeep's operators were prepared however, each armed to the teeth with the biggest guns Kyle and Cheri had ever seen.

"Well, well, would you look at that," Theo hummed, suddenly appearing between Kyle and Cheri. "The cavalry has finally arrived."

The four men exited the jeep promptly, each taking a knee to face down a different, devastated street. Gary made it over to the group just at the assault rifles bellowed, viciously echoing throughout the city. The guns' unified roar tore away the group's hearing, drowning out all sound except that of the shootout down under. The cannibalistic ghouls fell in stows, shredded to bloody chunks by the unforgiving, machine guns. After three, heart-wrenching, gore-filled minutes, every last creature in the area was dead yet again. This time in pieces...

Kyle whistled in awe. They were staring at salvation. A pinnacle of hope… for humanity's survival.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took awhile to crank out! Introducing the new characters always take awhile. A poor mother's anguish this chapter... and quite the disorderly foursome we got on the rooftop! Also, sorry if there are grammatical errors, I try folks! My editing is not always the greatest though! **

**P.S: Three more openings for OCs BTW! **


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